Learning to Live Without Steve
by fan-fic-writer-uk
Summary: Claire contemplates her life without Steve & makes a drastic decision. When Leon finds her he must put his own feelings aside & help her rebuild her life. Will Claire ever realise how he feels or is she forever doomed to be part of a dead love? a C/L fic
1. Grief Is A Powerful Emotion

Title: How Can I Live Without You Steve?  
  
Author: fan_fic_writer_uk  
  
Email: fan_fic_writer_uk@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Rating: R (just to be on the safe side)  
  
a/n Okay I took a little break from my brain child 'Weskers Desire' (a C/W pairing which incidentally if you haven't read please do so as like any author I love peole to read my stories, and of course getting reviews;). This story is a lot different and is extremely depressing at least in the begining).  
  
Note-I do NOT condone any of the happenings of this fic, so Please don't flame me for the ending.  
  
I Also DO NOT own Resident Evil (I wish)  
  
Chapter One: Grief is a Powerful Emotion  
  
***  
  
(Tape Recorder Begins)  
  
I lie here on my bed, clinging to it like it's the only thing left in this world. I want to cry, I want to mourn but I can't. I've cried too much these past few weeks, I've cried all that I can, and now all that I have to show for it are red, swollen eyes that feel forever dried up, and a heart that feels like it's breaking in two. Day transcends to night but I don't notice, I don't care and I haven't since the day we left that God awful place. All of my days, all of my nights are filled by him. Even my sleep is not spared from his remembrance, my dreams, my nightmares his face clouds them all. I've seen him die a thousand times within them, but they are not the worst by far. The worst are when he survives, when he holds me tightly in his strong, gentle arms and I tell him that I love him too. The worst, the part that aches my heart to the very core, is when he smiles lovingly and moves into kiss me, and when we are on the verge of that oh so innocent kiss, he crumbles before me like dust to the ground, and once again Steve Burnside has left me, is gone from my reach, from my grasp, that's the worst.  
  
It's not like the others haven't been there for me, or rather they were. But I'm inconsolable, I know that. I've pushed each of them away from me, even Chris. They have no idea what I'm going through, no idea. They try to feel sad, feel sorry for me but it does no good. These past few weeks I've stayed confined to my room, eating little, talking even less. I think the others have given up, I don't blame them if they have, nothing they can say or do can possibly help or heal me. I know Chris is hurt the most by my distance from him, but I can't help it. He wants to help me but his efforts are futile, I can't, I won't accept it. My life has lost all meaning since that day, I care nothing for Umbrella, my passion, my determination, has been cruelly taken away from me. My hate, my detestment pales in comparison to the pain I feel now.  
  
I remember that day, it is permanently burned into my mind, but then again how could I forget? You don't forget something like that do you?. I remember desperately looking for him, I was anxious to see him, to see his face. I remember entering that room, hearing the door lock, but I didn't notice, I was to preoccupied. Opening the pass lock, walking slowly up that eerie corridor, he was all that mattered. And when I reached him, lying so helpless, my heart skipped a beat. It pained me to see him there like that, but the joy and elevation my heart felt when I saw him far surpassed any sadness I felt. He woke and when we talked and he told me of what Alexia had done I felt as if my heart would burst with the anger that I felt against that bitch Alexia, for what she had done to my Steve. I remember as I was helping him there, I still firmly and utterly believed that we would get out there together, get out alive. That's why I was in shock, why I was able to carry on as normal or near normal afterwards, it just didn't sink in. That's why I didn't react first of all when the change came over him. Even when he urged me to get away from him, I couldn't my concern was to great. What was happening didn't sink in either when he reverted to that form. I admit I was scared, fearful. I ran away from, it was instinct after all. He was, or appeared to be a monster then, but really he wasn't, his actions later proved that he was still Steve, my Steve. He ran after me, all I was concerned at the time was survival, how foolish I was. I thought I was safe when I reached the pass gate, when it closed I thought I'd be okay,...again how wrong I was.  
  
Then it happened, that tentacle appeared from the wall, within a flash it had grabbed me and had began to squeeze the life out of me. It was then I thought I was going to die, in many ways I now reflect that it would have been much better if I had done so, after all I would never had to have lived the heartache I have since. I had a monster hacking at a gate with a giant axe, and another slowly killing me. I don't know why I tried to appeal to Steve, it was mad in retrospect really, I didn't or rather shouldn't have stood a chance. I gave him a pleading look with my eyes and my voice, I remember hoping to appeal to him, hoping a part of him was still there, perhaps I shouldn't have bothered. After all he sacrificed himself to save me, how cruel fate is. Attempting to save me cost him his own life, I feel forever responsible for what happened next.  
  
With a cry that demon women dislodged her tentacle from me and instead plunged herself into Steve as she retracted it, a cowardly attack if there ever was one. That attack, even in his T virus state, the wound was far too severe. It was too much for the body of my Steve as he lay there knocked to the ground. It surprised me beyond belief when he reverted back to is human state, but then again he wasn't all that monster to begin with, he was too strong for that. I still wasn't thinking then, it was just my nature to run to his side. Once again ignorance blinded me as he lay there, I comforted him, giving him empty, ultimately useless words, he...no we still believed he'd survive, we'd gotten so far, overcome so much, he couldn't die, he just couldn't. All the words I told him may have been useless, but the words he spoke were not, I'll never forget them. They've caused me the greatest of joy that I know I have ever felt, but they've also caused me the greatest grief imaginable. "I love you Claire", they were his final words, they were life changing words for me. He spoke these words with uncertainty, his usual cockiness gone, they like the rest of him were innocent, beautiful. And this is what pains me to the very heart of my entire soul, the pain hurts me more than a thousand deaths ever possibly could. You see I was in love with him, whether or not I had truly admitted it to myself. I was completely and totally in love with him, every fibre in my body yearned to be with him, or has done so since. And I never told him I loved, I NEVER TOLD HIM THAT I LOVE HIM TOO, he died not knowing that the feeling was reciprocated. I have hated myself ever since, and will continue to do so eternally. He died like he had lived for the past few weeks, uncertain and practically alone, what use was I? I never told him I loved him too. I wonder if he knew? My life, as I have discovered, is nothing without him, I can't bare to live without him, there is no point in me living my life without him, I can't, I'm too weak, I need him. And this brings me to present day.  
  
As I sit here, alone on this bed, in one hand I clasp the bed sheets, a poor comfort. In the other I clasp even more tightly, the only thing that has or rather will be the only thing that will be positive since Steve died, a razor. You see I am going to take the cowards way out, I'm not strong enough to survive without him, I need to see him again and this is the only way how, I'm going to kill myself. Please don't hate for what I'm about to do, I'm sorry but it is the only way. I haven't undertaken this decision lightly, don't think it's a spur of the moment thing. You can't possibly begin to understand what I've been through, and I hope you never will. I apologise to you the most Chris, but don't feel that you have lost your sister now, the real me died the day he did, the Claire you knew is already dead, I'm sorry. As I have said it is the only way, I will never recover, never heal from this experience, never. I have to stop talking about what I;m about to do, otherwise I know I'll chicken out of it, or worse, I'll fail at my attempt and only make it worse. Don't worry about the pain either, it is nothing compared to the emotional scars that have all but destroyed me. I'm sorry but I will have to stop the tape now, I can't allow you to hear me as I die, once again I'm sorry, please don't hate me I'm going to be happy.  
  
(Tape recorder is turned off)  
  
The razor glistened like silver in the dim lamp light of the room. Claire's heart raced in anticipation of what she was about to do. Part of her still debated whether she should or even could carry out the task before her. However in her heart she had already made up her mind and knew what she had to do. Slowly she raised the razor to her slender neck "I'm coming Steve" she whispered softly to the air as she sharply pulled the razor across her neck a small cry of joy escaping from her body.  
  
As she had thought the pain didn't hurt, not at all. In fact it felt more like release, as if the events that had been bubbling up inside of her were finally being released. As she slumped forward and fell on the mattress, blood soaked by now, a smile played upon her lips. Soon she would be with him, her love, her Steve. Soon it would all be over, no more pain, no more agony, just complete bliss... Just him and her forever.  
  
***  
  
It was a dream about him again, except this time it was different. They were dancing in a large room, perhaps a ballroom. The song was lively but also intimate, truly blissful. She smiled a smile only she could muster, seductive, lust filled, love filled..happy. He in turn pulled her closer to him, fulfilled, content, in love, smiling a smile he to could only pull off. Their bodies as they met both vigorously radiated warmth, heat, passion...love for the other. Then there was the kiss. She lent in, he pulled her closer staring into her and their lips touched, it was innocent and utterly perfect as it happened. This time however Steve Burnside did not disappear as the kiss broke. Instead he smiled and looked at her, "Claire, I've been waiting" he exclaimed happily as he pulled her closer to his body, then gently he tugged her towards him and into the nearby light tat shone by him. That light slowly enveloped the pair and led her to bliss, to her happiness at last.  
  
  
  
***  
  
a/n Well that was it, I hope you liked it. Also I really hope I haven't caused any offence to anyone. I've tried to do this as tastefully as possible and explain in depth Claire's feelings and emotions, so PLEASE PLEASE don't flame me. There is no way that I condone the above sequence, in fact I'm completely against it. This is fiction, ONLY fiction, nothing more. Please R/R as I really need to know how this was accepted. I know it was really depressing and sad but it was an idea I had and thought it was more original and emotional than if Claire carried on as almost normal after Steve's death and slowly forgot about him. However don't despair it will get better (although it's likely to get a lot worse before then)  
  
P.S Yes I know it was way, way too depressing but as I said it was an idea I just have to write. 


	2. Confession

Title: Learning To Live Without Steve  
  
Author: fan_fic_writer_uk  
  
Email: fan_fic_writer_uk@yahoo.co.uk  
  
Rating: R  
  
Language: English  
  
Note- I do NOT own resident evil (like that wasn't obvious)  
  
a/n Yeah I'm putting off my main fic Wesker's Desire a little more (planning chapter 11 by the way) as I thought I'd try and expand into other areas. I've decided that I'll develop this into a C/L fic as it's the only direction I can see it taking and from what I noticed there's a LOT of C/L fans, so this ones for you. If your a C/S fan then just diregard the rest of the fic and pretend chapter 1 was the ending (it was going to be originally anyway). You read the summary so you know what goes on, so just please R/R and enjoy my story, thanks.  
  
Anyway, on with the fic.  
  
Chapter Two: Confession  
  
***  
  
It's night once more, silent as it is again I can't get to sleep. I lie here on my bed awake trying, willing myself to go to sleep, but I can't, and it's all because she's once again playing on my mind. I can't get her out of my head, every time I close my eyes she's there flashing me one of her usual tomboy grins. When I'm awake I'm constantly drawn to thinking about her, I can't help it. It's been like this since she came back and I know it'll continue to do so, unless I break the cycle myself. I want to but since the events of Antarctica it's been near impossible. She's been so distant from us all, to wrapped up in her own grief, although I can't blame her, but how can anyone help her if she won't let them get close to her? It's been several months now since what happened in Antarctica but still there's no change in her. I mean it appears on the surface that she's fine, after all she smiles and laughs and things like that, of course that's when she's not up in her room which is practically all the time. that may surfice for the rest of the group but it doesn't for me, I know different. The smile, the laugh, it's just a front that she puts on, trying to fool us, to make us think she's coping alright. The real truth is that she's far from over her grief, but as I said she won't let anyone get close, not really close. She'll sit there and pretend that you've comforted her, but really it makes no difference to her, and it pains me to see her this way. The Claire that I knew is gone, at least for now, her spirit and soul have been knocked out of her, like a candle snuffed out, and I can't help but feel responsible, you see I'm to blame.  
  
I should never have let her go alone to the Paris facility, if I hadn't maybe none of this would ever have happened. I knew she was going, she asked me to go with her but I was still too preoccupied with what had happened in Racoon City, namely my time with Ada. I was still in shock over what had happened with her even though time had passed. And in the beginning at least, I wasn't sure whether I was in love with her, after all there was an instant physical attraction between the two of us, at least on my part. However now I realise I'll never know, we never really knew each other, not in the slightest. For all I know she was just using me as an escape ticket, after all she was constantly cold and bitter towards me, that was until right at the end...but I'll never know. That's why I've been able to move on, tell myself that it was all in my head, I was just a way out for her, nothing more. For me the words could well hold some truth but for her it's different, I can sense that. She won't talk about it but from intuition something happened while she was with him, something big, something I wish I'd shared with her long ago. You cannot count the times I wish I'd gone with her but then again what good would it do? I didn't fully understand what she was doing at the time and I never could have imagined the consequences that they'd have on her...or on me. You see it's not just regret I feel for not going, it's jealousy.  
  
I know it's selfish for me to think this way, especially at a time like this, but I can't help it. I feel that I've lost Claire since she's come back, and not just in the ways that I mentioned before. You can probably guess why I'm jealous, I'm in love with her. I didn't realise it before, I just took for granted that Claire would always be with me after what happened, when she left I discovered how deep my feelings ran. Once she was gone, I was instantly free of my thoughts of Ada, I missed her too much, Ada became a memory, nothing more. It was then I was forced to confront my feelings for Claire, it was then I found out just how much I felt for her and from then on I've just wanted to be with her. That's why it hurts so much while she's been back, I haven't been able to tell her how I feel, and that has caused me to be jealous, to be jealous of him. Jealous of a dead guy I never knew? yes I am, Why? you may ask, well I'll tell you. He had her heart whether or not I care to admit that to myself, something I haven't ever had the joy of. However I'm lying to myself when I say I'm jealous, I'm not, it runs much deeper than that, you see I'm hurt. It tears me to pieces to think that she loved him, I know she did, and it hurts so much.  
  
Jealousy was just an excuse, it was a lie I was content to live. I told myself I was jealous of the time they spent together, jealous of the fact he meant so much to her. I told myself that jealousy and hurt were two different things, it made me feel better to believe that, as that way I couldn't get hurt, I wouldn't allow myself to get hurt. It was a pretence I willingly kept up in the vain hope it would be enough, I discover now it's not. The lies that I've put up with since she left and even more so since she's been back have all come to a head this night. That's why I'm here writing this taking comfort on an empty piece of paper. What do I expect from writing this? I don't really know. I suppose what I hope is that these words will help me to decide what I will do...but in truth my mind is already made up. My thoughts and feelings that are on these pages are just my feeble cling to hope, a hope that she may possibly feel the same way I do. Really though I think it's so that I can spend a few more minutes with the small chance, the small wish, the small hope that the feeling is mutual, instead of the rejection I'm convinced I'm going to get.  
  
You see she doesn't love me does she? If she did it would have happened back in Racoon city. They say that love takes time to bloom but that wasn't true in their case. Maybe it's because they spent more time together than we did, it's something amongst many other thing that I've come to regret. You see if I'd been with her more and been somebody she felt she could depend on maybe things would be different, maybe. I just want her to see that I'm more than she sees me as... a lot more. That's why tonight is so important, tonight I tell her the truth.  
  
That's where I bring this entry to a close, there's nothing left to say, or rather nothing else left to keep me from what I'm about to do. I feel I've poured out my heart and soul here and now and I wonder if it was the right thing to do, it just makes me a bigger target for hurt pain and rejection. Looking back at what I've written I doubt many people think that I'm anywhere near this complex, that I'm this emotional, that I have these sorts of feelings. It's not quite the impression I know that I've given in the past. Most think I'm just that rookie cop, nothing more, but that's where they're wrong I'm not as simple as I seem, I know that for sure at least. Maybe I'm just better at hiding my feelings than most, or should that be burying them? Either way I know what I'm going to do, what I've got to do. The consequences of my actions in the next few hours I know will most likely be dire and there will be repercussions. But I need to know, once and for all, I have to know.  
  
Even rejection is better than living in this torment of uncertainty...well isn't it?  
  
...to hell with the consequences.  
  
***  
  
Leon finished his heartfelt confession there and then and pushed the papers he had written aside. He led there on the bed for a while, twirling a finger compulsively around a loose lock of his hair, plucking up the courage he so desperately needed. *I'm not sure if I can do this*, he thought doubtfully, *If she doesn't feel the same then I've lost her. We won't be able to be around each other either, It'll be too awkward for her and too hurtful for me... however if she feels the same...*.  
  
He sat up with a decisive sigh, it was decided *If there's a chance I've got to try*. He slowly pulled himself off of his creaking, well worn bed, beads of sweat already forming in anticipation of what he was about to do. Shakily he willed himself towards the door, feeling incredibly light headed all of a sudden as he did so. He pulled quickly down on his door handle, the adrenaline beginning to kick in. However the way in which he half walk, half stumbled across the hallway to Claire's room betrayed his new found confidence. Finding himself at Claire's bedroom door Leon wanted nothing more than to run back to the emotional safety his room offered, but he couldn't. His legs were like jelly and he just couldn't budge from the spot he was currently standing on, he had to do it, it was now or never. Taking up the power of the moment he was about to knock on the door before stopping himself, realising that it was already the small hours of the morning, Claire would have gone to bed a long time ago. About to turn back Leon's eyes were drawn to the small beams of light the cracks in the door let through into the hallway, Claire was awake as well. With both renewed joy, and renewed fear, he once again mentally and emotionally prepared to do what he felt he had to do.  
  
Before he could stop himself or once again begin to procrastinate, he brought his shaking hand to the wooden door. A series of rapid timid knocks echoed around the silent hallway causing Leon to jump slightly despite himself. He stood there for a moment in front of the doorway awaiting a reply, instead he got none. Again he knocked on the door, a bit sharper and a slightly louder this time, but again there was no response from the other side of the door. He was in mixed emotions about not getting a reply, both disappointed and grateful at the same time. *Claire must've fallen asleep with the light on, probably reading or something* he thought as he turned slowly back to his room. But he had barely taken a few steps before he was struck by a intense gut feeling.  
  
Perhaps it was the fact that he had waited so long for this moment, put it off for so long, thought about it so much. Perhaps it was the adrenaline of the spur of the moment. Or perhaps it was something more, something on a much deeper level, but Leon couldn't, wouldn't walk away from this, it was wrong, he knew it. He forced himself to turn around and face his future. He breathed strongly and heavily, preparing himself to enter Claire's bedroom. Carefully with an deep exhale of breath he pulled down on the golden door handle, in fear that either Claire was still awake or would wake up because of the noise he was making, however he needn't have worried. Leon silently and cautiously moved into the dimmed room, noticing Claire (who he thought was asleep) led on her stomach in her bed on the far side of the darkened room.  
  
Practically creeping with each step he took he made his way over to her bed. Still a distance away he reflected on how peaceful she looked, even from this angle. *She's asleep, I can't wake her, I can wait* he thought as he gazed at her. He was about to turn away from her and go back to the comfort of his room once again, when he saw the blood on the bed sheets. At first it was only a few drops he could see, nothing to worry about. But as he stared intrigued at where she laid he saw more of it, great patches of it soaking the delicate cloth of the sheets. It was then true fear overwhelmed him completely. With anxiety running through his veins he ran to the bedside all ready dreading what he would find, although violently, violently hoping otherwise. With a movement of pure terror he outstretched his shaking arms and in one swift motion pulled Claire over, gasping with a cry of shock as he did so.  
  
Under normal circumstances he would have most likely become an emotion wreck in a situation like this. However this time instinct immediately took over as he of course realised what had happened. His previous worries and now seemingly selfish thoughts were replaced with the absolute horror he felt as he gazed into the cold lifeless face before him, and the blood still dripping from her neck where the razor lay embedded. Suddenly finding his throat unusually dry and fear welling up inside of him, he prepared to speak.  
  
"CLAIRE...CLAIRE...CLAIRE" he screamed at the top of his lungs as he held the body before him, shaking it slightly. "CLAIRE, PLEASE ANSWER ME...PLEASE WAKE UP", he cried as his words woke up the rest of the household in the surrounding rooms. The emotion of the situation began catching up with him, the tears began to fall freely as he repeated in a much more quieter voice "Claire please wake up", between sobs as he led against the body before him.  
  
***  
  
a/n Okay I hope chapter two kept up the emotion I'm trying to convey. I think it the story went particularly well in the beginning in first person mode but I don't think it was as good in third person, but mayabe I'm just trying too hard (although I think I should've spend some more time on this chapter). I've already got some ideas planned for chapter three but I probably won't start it until I've written chapter eleven 'Growing Closer' of Wesker's Desire.  
  
In other news I'm currently planning these fics: 1)Sherry or Steve, Steve of Sherry', and 2)'Betrayed in more ways than one' (although I'm think of changing the title of the latter. For info on these fics read the bottom a/n of chapter ten of 'WD'. Also another fic I've planned since then is;  
  
Not So Innocent-  
  
Rebecca Chamber's is that goody goody S.T.A.R.S member, always one you can trust and rely on. She comes across as both slightly dumb and very loyal to her friends and authority. But what if she's not who she seems to be? What if her loyality are not where they seem to lie? What if her past is a dark, dark one?, What *really* happned in the mansion before the Alpha teem arrived? How did she survive so long? Why did Wesker really take a shot at her? And what if her future involves killing all of the remaining S.T.A.R. team members? What then...?  
  
Okay update in a week to ten days (if the reviews start coming in). 


	3. Heaven and Hell, Anguish and Grief

Category: Resident Evil (I'm pretty sure you got that already)  
  
Title: Learning to Live Without Steve  
  
Author: Dan  
  
Email: fan_fic_writer_uk@yahoo.co.uk  
  
OR  
  
fan_fic_writer_uk@msn.com  
  
OR  
  
IM me on either of the two  
  
Pairing: Leon/Claire (eventually perhaps)  
  
Rating: R  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own RE (well that's hardly surprising)  
  
A/n: *Gosh darn* it, I've updated. It's been a *while* but well, the important thing is I've updated. I've been away from the world of fan fiction for a while (albeit in the writing sense), hopefully that is going to change. I have recently found new interest in a number of fics I had almost abandoned, so I'm going to be updating them (and maybe, one day, actually. finishing a story). Anyway hopefully I'll be putting chapters out for this on a fairly regular basis (don't hold me to that though).  
  
It's probably also a good idea if I also mention that because of my extended absence, my fic might have changed in terms of writing tone and style. I'd hope it hasn't, with any luck it will have matured (well I did have *another* birthday a few months back.my 16th. So now I'm well and truly heading into the teenage twilight years). Anyway apologies in advance for any shift in my mannerisms and characterisation, descriptions and plot.  
  
Also I apologise if I offend anyone with any of my ideas about depression and suicide, be it attempted or otherwise. Contrary to anything I seem to write, I'm not a depressive individual (it's perhaps surprisingly true, and I'm not as nice to people in real life as I am in these a/n's). Therefore I'm merely making educated guesses to the thoughts, feelings and emotions that are going on inside the characters minds.  
  
Oh and also, I had noticed how people did question Claire's love for Steve. It's more than a fair point; she did only know him for a short period of time. However I have my own reasons/excuses for this behaviour which are briefly explained below.  
  
Claire could have been struck with the love at *first sight* arrow (well during that brief time they spent together- yeah that old chestnut). Or perhaps it's not love she felt for him, maybe it was severe guilt. Guilt that she let him die, *allowed* him to die to save her. Guilt can do strange things to people; even direct them to suicide as a way out, to quell their aching consciences. Of course if you still aren't satisfied with those excuses then I have the old artistic license for my defence. yep I'm covered.  
  
Anyway on to the fic,  
  
Chapter Three: Heaven and Hell, Anguish and Grief  
  
***  
  
Silence. beautiful, gorgeous, wonderful silence. It seemed to have wrapped itself around the air in a most precarious of fashions; instilling, infusing itself softly with something scathingly similar to the subtle fragrance of honeysuckle. Amongst that combination of the stillness and delicate scent that *invaded* her mind, she was struck with a sense of complete bliss, tranquillity at last.  
  
That place that was the world and container of all her worries suddenly seemed very fragile, insignificant and so very far away. There was no depression or regret where she was now; no expectations or responsibilities, there were no ties at all to keep her from soaring. There was just him and her, and the light that shone all around them; this magnificent, radiant glow that surrounded her and all of her vision. It didn't matter, she had her eyes closed anyway, in blissful ecstasy; she knew she was safe, she knew she was protected, she knew he was near. This light, this amazing magical beam, was a thousand times better than sunshine on the skin, it brought her skin alive with its sheen, it's brilliance it's gleam. It sent her body in to a state of pure rapture, and there was no doubt in her mind, in her body, in her whole being that she had done the right thing. This was perfection, this paradise, heaven; this was nirvana at last. And then the darkness came.  
  
Suddenly the *light* was blocked out as if by some blackened cloud, its powerful essence concealed, obscured, taken from the reach of her skin. Then there was the falling, that terrible, swift, rapid plunge that took her breath away. And as she fell the darkness grew blacker, inkier, and more sinful; a torrent of indisputably evil blackness.  
  
She tried in vain to open her eyes, to see him, if she could see him, touch him, hold him, then she'd be fine. But her body wouldn't obey to comply with this most simple of requests. Neither could she seem to call for him, every time she did the voice lodged itself in her throat, her mouth refusing to serve as an outlet. And every time she tried to call, the voice got more and more desperate. It began by just itching her throat, a slight tingle, a sensation. Soon however the feeling grew and became a sharp prickle as the words grew more fraught, and then they began to claw for freedom at her throat. The clawing became unbearable, and she knew that the words had to come out, they just had to, and so she began to scratch too from the other side to quicken their necessary escape.  
  
Deep gratings, rakings of nails on flesh that brought tears to her eyes and deep ruby-red blood to her finger-tips, but still she didn't stop. She could feel the scarlet, crimson substance on her hands, thick and viscous, but she wasn't deterred. She could feel herself getting closer, so very near, almost free of them. and then her hands were ripped away by some unseen force, and the voices began.  
  
Her hands were held away from where she so anxiously, urgently wanted them to be, by icy restraints. In fact they were so cold they felt as if they were ablaze with an artic heat. Her skin was attacked by this frosty inferno, sending shivers and convulsions through her hands and to the rest of her body. She was trying, trying so frantically, to escape this slow cold burning, but to no avail, for soon more *manacles* descended upon the length of her body, holding it down and tightening their grip on her soul.  
  
There were voices too; ugly, disgusting, hideous voices that made her skin crawl, for she could hear the evil, the malice in them. Some were shouting, others whispering, screaming and screeching, crying and laughing, although there was no joyful tone in their cackles. She couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, the words were inaudible, muffled, distorted; there was only the distasteful sounds, the vibes that they uttered in filthy, nauseating, gut-wrenching tones.  
  
There was one point when she thought she thought she could make out a few words they were spewing, ejecting from vile tongues. She was sure, so sure, that they spoke her own name, her full name, and when they did the screeching, the yelling, the noises got louder, piercing, ear splitting. That was when Claire Redfield knew it, knew what was happening; the reason for the pain, the reason for those creatures glee when they spoke her name was so obvious. She was going to be punished for committing suicide, for taking the easy way out, she was going to hell. It was that oh so sinister of thoughts firmly lodged stiffly in her mind that the pain finally overtook her entire being.  
  
***  
  
The pain was truly unbearable, it was agonising, excruciating even. It shot through her mind in jet white blasts, making every single cell in it scream with the torture it was inflicted with. It covered every inch of the inside of her cranium entirely evenly; there was prejudice or discrimination as far as far as the tormentor, the giver of this anguish was concerned.  
  
She wanted to fight it but couldn't, it was just so very strong, and she was so very weak. It just wouldn't let go until she surrendered to its power, gave in to its obvious supremacy. Claire knew though that if she did that then hell would surely claim her soul. If it had been up to her mind then she probably would have lost the battle long ago, she didn't have the mental strength to fight at all, her mind didn't even want to live. It was her body that was in control though; it was her body's conflict with this evil, not hers. She could only watch and feel the brawl between the two, nothing more. thing was, she could already feel her body slipping.  
  
***  
  
It was with a profoundly heavy heart that Chris Redfield silently paced the corridor outside the hospital's intensive care ward. Oblivious to any possible onlookers, he marched the length of the narrow window strip that looked in on the ward, periodically peering into it, before resuming his serious of strides.  
  
He didn't know how long he'd been like this, been at the hospital for, neither did he care. It seemed both like forever and no time at all. Everything had become like that, a mere blur and nothing more, since that night. An endless stream of nothingness (for Chris at least) had followed after the discovery of is sisters body, meters from where he had slept. The minutes, hours and even days just seemed to merge into one, neither long nor short, stretch of time. There was nothing, *nothing*, in his mind that was significant enough to split the void that had become, almost literally, a period of non-existence for him. One of the very few things he truly cared for in the whole of his life was being cruelly, callously, maliciously taken from him, and there wasn't anything he could do about the unfairness of it. He was her brother, he was supposed to protect her, be there for her, save her. and he hadn't even been able to fill that most cardinal of duties.  
  
Anyone that looked at the man, who was continually, repetitively, incessantly walking the hospital's tiled floor way, would have come to one universal conclusion, this was a broken man. Indeed he was, it was completely obvious from the outside, there was no hiding of it, for he had not the strength to do that.  
  
He towed his body forward in the stance of unquestionable slouch. He ploughed both feet forward as they dragged along the floor, seemingly threatening to seize up and stop completely at times; propelling him forwards towards the horizontal expanse that was the ground. The steps were slow and weary, there was no life in them, and that was reflected in every fibre of him. His back was bent, his shoulders slumped, his chin practically touching the very top of his chest. and then there was his face, which was entirely riddled with unspoken grief.  
  
His lips were nothing but an unmoving line, a small, tight streak of cherry red, never dissolving into any other emotion; nothing could rouse them from their gloomy and downcast expression. His eyes were utterly lifeless, two staring pupils that were completely blind to everything and anything in their view. Those eyes that had so often been scrunched up in mirth or ablaze with passion as he spoke of his strong convictions and beliefs. now they were pools of pain. Completely dead, they shot morbid thoughts into the minds of anyone who happened to be caught in their path. Chris Redfield was not a well man.  
  
He was weary beyond belief, he hadn't *slept* since the incident, he only grabbed a few hours, at best, of fitful sleep since he'd been there. The others had taken it in turns to be there with him, to be there for him, but they hadn't been able to endure seeing both him and Claire in their respective states. The only constant accompanier he had was Leon, although he barely acknowledged his presence, even if he was subconsciously forever thankful of it.  
  
They were both to far withdrawn and reserved in their own solitary misery, their own grief, their own private hell. They were barely able to keep themselves alive; there was no way that they could muster the energy to console the other. It wouldn't have worked anyway if they had; their pain was different, their hearts hurt differently, due to the difference of their love, for her. they couldn't have comforted the other for they did not know how.  
  
And so, in three lives at least, there was blackness, nothing but hellish blackness for a long time. It could well have been a small eternity, for all they knew. That was until the day when Claire's condition changed and the true heartache began.  
  
***  
  
A/n: Ah well that was another angsty chapter from me (well what else would you expect?). From hereon in I'd imagine it will only get more depressing and darker, although I guess there's the slight chance I could be struck with some sort of fluffiness *disease*.  
  
Dan 


End file.
